


A Lions Cub

by Bellatrix_Wannabe_89



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cersei Lannisters A+ Parenting, Child Abuse, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Incest, Jaime Lannister Deserves To Be A Father, Jaime Lannister Needs a Hug, Minor Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Protective Jaime Lannister, unconnected oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28762728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89/pseuds/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89
Summary: Jaime was not allowed to comment on Cersei’s spoiling of Joffrey, he was not allowed to do anything more than fawn over Myrcella’s beauty, and he was warned not to treat Tommen as anything more than the second less important spare the world would see him as. But he was tired of being told his cubs were stags. He was tired of being told he could not hold them, he could not adore them, he could not love them. If he had to go behind Robert’s back, if he had to risk his twins wrath, if he had to threaten war, he would make sure, one way or another, Tommen would know  he was a lions cub.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Tommen Baratheon & Jaime Lannister
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	A Lions Cub

One of the best days of Jaime’s life was the day his first son came into the world. It was also one of the worst.

Joffrey was strong, robust, the biggest baby the midwives and Maesters ever saw, with a head full of blonde hair.

“My perfect little Joffrey,” Cersei breathed as she took the newborn in her arms. For the first time in a long time her eyes were shining bright with a love that was as pure as the snows that blanketed the North. She ran her finger against the boy’s silky smooth cheek. “My beautiful son. My beautiful cub.”

“You’ve given the world quite the little prince, Your Grace,” one of the midwives mewled.

“The spitting image of Tywin but I’m sure he’ll grow to look like Robert eventually,” another declared.

“Oh yes,” Cersei said, a shadow of mocking in her words. “He’ll be as noble a stag as his father.” 

When the midwives left her to rest with the babe in her arms Jaime approached her, gazing at the small boy in sheer awe and utter amazement. This was his son, his firstborn, his blood... 

“He’s beautiful,” Jaime said, resting a hand atop his head and running his fingers through the silky blonde hair. When he went to hold him Cersei clutched him tighter to her breast. 

“How would it look?" his sister warned him. "Bad enough Joff looks like you without you mooning over him.”

Her words might have been a dagger to his heart. “Cersei…” he began to plead. “The boy, Joffrey, he’s-.”

“Your nephew and your future king,” she said sharply. “That is all.”

“Please,” he begged softly so as not to be overheard. “I just want to hold him. Just once.”

“Joffrey is Robert’s.” There was a final determination in her voice that he knew by now he would not win an argument with. “It would be cruel to allow another man to hold him before his father gets to.”

That was the end of it. Jaime bowed his head and left hating Robert, hating Cersei, and even feeling a bitterness towards the boy he would never be able to claim as his own. Joffrey would be able to love Cersei openly without restraint, Joffrey would be able to spend all his time with Cersei, Joffrey would be the only one who could suckle at Cersei’s breasts for the next six months. 

When Robert returned from hunting with a bear pelt that he would have made into a cloak for her and he watched the king take the golden boy in his arms, and watched as he called Joffrey his son and wept, Jaime hardly even cared.

Joffrey grew quickly. He was loud and boisterous, cried often and everything he desired he was given ten fold, with swift punishment ordered by Cersei if her little prince was not given what he wanted as soon as he asked for it. If he yanked on the nursemaids hair and they chastised him, Cersei would have them escorted from the grounds. If he did not want to eat the mashed plums the cooks prepared then he did not have to eat, and there would be severe punishment for those who tried to force him.

“You’re spoiling the boy,” Jaime complained once when Joffrey was three and Cersei allowed him to yank on the ears and tails of the hounds, ordering the kennel master away when he told Joffrey to stop. “You’re turning him into a monster.”

Cersei slapped him. “You are not his parent!” she hissed at her brother as he rubbed the sting away. “He is MY son, Jaime! Mine! If you wanted to father a child perhaps you shouldn’t have put on that white cloak!”

I put on the white cloak for you, he wanted to remind her but he just bowed his head, muttered his apologies and left. She was right. Joffrey was not his son, it was not his responsibility to raise him up to be a decent man.

Robert noticed what she was turning Joffrey into as well. Only when he brought it up and received the same slap in response, Cersei walked out of the room with bruises on her arms and later that day the king told the kennel master to give the boy a smack on the hand and to tell the prince ‘no’ if Joffrey hurt the dogs again.

A week later Joffrey came running into Cersei’s chambers crying, showing his mother the faintest shade of red on the back of his hand. The next day the old man was found gutted and hung from the rafters in his beloved kennels.

Robert did not ask the staff to discipline Joffrey again.

That night the king went to his whores, and Cersei went to Jaime. “I had to do it,” she whispered in his ear as he moved inside of her, running her hands through his golden curls. “I had to protect our son, your boy. The dog loving bastard would have beaten your son bloody...”

His boy. Their son. That was the only time Jaime was able to claim him, when she wanted something or when she was convincing him something she had done in regards to Joffrey that he disagreed with was for the best (in the instances when the slaps didn’t work.)

Seven weeks later the Grand Maester confirmed what Cersei already knew, and seven months later Jaime was with her again as she pushed and screamed and clutched at his hand as tight as she could.

“It’s a girl,” the Maester announced to the room and Cersei’s face fell slightly, as all Highborn’s did when a daughter passed between a woman’s legs instead of a son. 

But when Myrcella was placed in Cersei’s arms and the Queen looked down at ber after all the fluids were washed away, any disappointment disappeared. She was beautiful. A golden princess, delicate and small, a stunning eternal beauty with a head full of golden curls and long pale eyelashes. All the midwives gasped and fawned over the little girl. Myrcella was the most beautiful babe any of them had ever seen, also strong and big for her gender.

A perfect little doe, they all called her, and Jaime felt his heart sink. No matter how much he prepared himself for the comments they still stung. She’s not a doe, she’s a cub. She’s MY cub, he wanted to scream, but that would spell death for them all, and Jaime would rather kill himself then bring harm to this perfect little girl.

“She looks exactly like you, Your Grace,” a midwife gushed. “A beauty for all the ages.”

“She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” another said, and Cersei beamed with pride. She had made that, she had made her. She was responsible for making the most beautiful child in the realm.

“She is quite stunning isn't she?” Cersei smiled and held out a finger for Myrcella to hold onto. “Just like me…”

This time Jaime asked to hold her just once, a simple question with few emotions, and when she told him no he let it drop. When Robert exchanged an armful of fox furs Cersei would use to make a winter gown and kissed the girls golden brow, after spending an hour or so pouting that he didn’t get another prince, it barely even stung.

Myrcella grew to be perfect in nearly every way. Even her cries were small and delicate, exactly what a princesses wailing should be. Her smile was golden, and her bright green eyes lit up with every laugh. She was the darling of the realm, and before she was even six moons old there were marriage offers pouring in from every House great and small. 

“She’s not even a year old!” Jaime hissed as another raven asking for a betrothal with the newborn and a man who would reach his fiftieth birthday the next weekend. “They don’t even know her, all they see is a pretty face and a princesses title! Don't entertain this shit, Cersei, dont!”

“They’re just seeing what the options are. They know she’ll grow up to be beautiful, just like her mother,” she cooed, fixing the crimson bow in her hair. 

Joffrey was jealous of the attention his mother and others gave his little sister. The first time Robert introduced them the small boy had pinched her arm until she was screaming in pain, and one night one of the maids caught him slipping into the princesses nursery with a knife. Cersei put two guards on her daughter's door at all times and held and kissed the boy, and told her sweet and perfect prince that he must never ever do that again. 

“Myrcella is your sister, my brave lion,” she told her son, stroking his golden hair and kissing the top of his head. “And you must always protect your sister.”

Joffrey tried to sneak into her nursery every night for a week before he grew tired of being sent back to bed by the guards and eventually he just gave up. During the day Joffrey would not play with her, he would not sing to her, he would not hold her and every time they were alone together she would end up screaming and crying in pain, and Joffrey would swear he did nothing to the little girl, mirroring Cersei’s expression whenever she would use to lie and tell Tywin she didn’t hurt Tyrion.

Eventually Robert commanded a guard to oversee their play whenever the two of them were alone together and for once Cersei did not argue, but even still she screamed and threatened and slapped Jaime whenever he dared to insinuate that this level of jealousy was not okay, that there was something wrong with the boy. Joffrey was perfect, Cersei insisted, a strong and brave prince who would make a remarkable king one day. Her son was a fearless lion and if anyone dared to say otherwise they could take up their arguments with Ser Ilyn. 

Jaime just shrugged and walked away, telling himself the same thing he told himself every time he brought up the children and she grew angry with him. They were not his. His squirt of seed in her cunt was as far as his responsibilities and connection towards them went.

The anniversary of Lyanna’s death was always a dark day in the castle. Robert would be piss-drunk by sundown, roaring and screaming at any man who happened to cross his path and he would always go to Cersei’s chambers and demand that Jaime was to be on guard that night, blaming the Lannisters for Lyanna’s untimely departure in his drunken rage. He would hear the king grunt and gasp and moan Lyanna’s name over and over and over, and when he was finally done Robert would always weep.

It was in those moments that Jaime was glad the Stark girl was dead. Any man who treated a woman that cruel deserved to have his love ripped away from him by his enemies. Those were the times, when he had to stand outside the door listening to the abuse the king inflicted on the Queen, that Jaime wished he could have taken Lyanna away from Robert himself.

The king went hunting the next morning and when Jaime went to his sister that night she begged him to be gentle with her. Cersei wanted her twin to take her on the king's bed but Robert had inflicted too much pain for her to be able to tolerate the way they were usually together. 

Jaime took her softly, slowly, gazing into her eyes as he held him and kissed her like all the knights kissed all the maids in the stories and songs she swore she never liked but he would always catch her reading when she was a girl. Her nails dug into his back and she would moan his name, and he would whisper hers, and afterwards as he held her and she would rest her head on his chest and wrap her arms around him, it was as if they were man and wife. Happy, and content, with no one in the world who could protest their union. 

Jaime stroked the long golden hair fanned out in his chest and she glowed with a warmth only he was permitted to see.

“You just put a son in me,” Cersei whispered, looking up at him with soft green eyes. She cupped his face and brought his lips to hers. “You just gave me another son…”

Nine months later he held her hand as she laid in the birthing bed for the third time. The babe was smaller then the other two, less robust, more quiet, more meek and subdued.

“Another golden haired babe,” the midwife said, her smile less pronounced than it had been for the other two. “With Lannister emeralds for eyes as well.”

“This one takes after his uncle,” another added looking to Jaime and then back to the babe. “He’s your kin, Ser Jaime, there's no doubt about that…”

Jaime just smiled, letting a flash of dangerous white teeth show that silenced anymore comments of the like. “It would appear so.”

It took hours of pleading on Jaime’s behalf to have them killed painlessly rather than have Cersei draw the process out. 

But they had the right of it. Tommen looked as much like Jaime as a babe could look, very little Cersei, even less of Tywin. Even Robert commented how little the babe looked like him, and he chided how small the babe was but he still held him, still gave Cersei a brace of white fur hares she could make a beautiful pair of boots with.

Jaime didn’t even bother asking to hold the babe this time.

There was something about this one that was different from the other two though. Tommen’s eyes found Jaime’s face in the birthing room and he held his gaze for the longest while, like he knew he was his seed. The other two ignored him and had eyes for only Cersei, but not Tommen. He reached out his tiny hand for Jaime to grab and his mother pulled it away, glaring at her twin like it was his fault, and the pitiful face on the newborns face and his pathetic cry broke Jaime’s heart, and it took everything in him not to cuff Robert when he sneered and called the boy, not even a day old, a weakling.

Perhaps that was why that night, as Cersei and Robert lay sleeping, Jaime crept into Tommen's room unseen. He gazed down at the boy, eyes half closed with exhaustion, a tiny dribble of the wet nurses milk on his cheek. When he saw Jaime his eyes opened a bit and the Knight smiled down at the boy.

“Hey you,” the lion purred as he reached in with a finger. His heart swelled when Tommen grabbed a hold of it, squeezing as hard as his little hand could. He gnawed at his lip as he looked down at the tiny cub before he reached in and picked him up, and cradled the small boy against him.

“I’m your papa,” Jaime whispered so softly he wasn’t sure he said it aloud, tears filling his eyes as he gently rocked his son in his arms. “I’m your papa, and you’re my son. No matter what anyone says or convinces you of, I’m your father, Tommen. And I will always love you.”

Jaime leaned down and kissed his forehead, inhaling that sweet, perfect newborn smell, not yet tainted by the world. He heard footsteps walk on by, a maid likely doing her cleaning duties, but even still Jaime froze until she passed. He laid him back down in the bassinet, kissed his brow and smoothed out the silk-like golden hair on his head and hurried out as quietly as he could, making his way back to his chambers unseen.

He would be a father to that boy, Jaime swore to himself as he laid in his bed and stared up at the ceiling, his finger still tingling from where Tommen grabbed ahold of it. He would be the one to raise him, and guide him, and make sure he didn’t end up as spoiled as Joffrey or treat him as merely window dressing like Myrcella. Cersei and Robert and the rest of the hateful hypocrites be damned, he would make SURE that boy knew Jaime loved him, that he would die for him, that he would kill for him, that he would risk open war for him. 

Yes, he decided as he drifted off to sleep, dreams full of the green eyed little boy, Tommen would be Jaime’s, in one ear or another. This was one cub this lion was not willing to lose to the stags...


End file.
